To me, Harry Potter is a warm blanket wrapped around you on an unfathomably cold winters day.

Harry Potter is a hot cup of tea in the middle of exam season anxiety.

Harry Potter is all the life lessons my parents never taught me.

Harry Potter is magic that you just can’t seem to spin off your fingertips.

Harry Potter is the hug of your best friend on a day you didn’t think you’d get through.

Harry Potter is the scratching of a pencil on paper and the spark of a brilliant idea.

Harry Potter is a childhood filled with wonder, an adolescence filled with dreams, and an adulthood filled with hope.

Harry Potter is every tangible and intangible thing you could ever hope to be.

Harry Potter is always, in every crooked definition of the world.

Harry Potter is the sound of a world settling and the gentle hum of being comforted.

Harry Potter is a generation, a generation of kids getting high on the distraction of fantasy.

I guess you could make it simpler.

Harry Potter is 7 books, 8 movies, 197 chapters, one epilogue, over a million words and more memories made than you could count.

But, going back, you really can’t make it simpler.

Because, at least, to me, Harry Potter is home.